


The Woven Strings of Fate Part 1: Crossroads

by TobiBooneTheSmallSpoone



Series: The Sorceress, The Witcher, The Bard and a Girl [9]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22577467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobiBooneTheSmallSpoone/pseuds/TobiBooneTheSmallSpoone
Summary: For rainingechoes and Isnt_It_Strange who put up with my future-writing, 3AM questions and for spurring this one-shot idea into a project I'm extremely proud of.FEW QUICK THINGS!!1. so happy everyone is enjoying the series so far! I'm truly touched!2. this AU does not follow any canon, Geralt has his memory, the Nilfgaardians are as of now not a threat, Ciri is not a Child of Surprise as we have a prophecy to contend with, she isn't a princess or anything like that. Just so there is no confusion or misunderstanding. :33. The installment titles are going to change here on out as I've run out of 'how to' steam and the direction changed.ANYWAYS! ENJOY!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer
Series: The Sorceress, The Witcher, The Bard and a Girl [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584583
Comments: 20
Kudos: 132





	The Woven Strings of Fate Part 1: Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isnt_It_Strange (Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caring_Is_Not_An_Advantage/gifts), [rainingechoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainingechoes/gifts).



> For rainingechoes and Isnt_It_Strange who put up with my future-writing, 3AM questions and for spurring this one-shot idea into a project I'm extremely proud of.
> 
> FEW QUICK THINGS!!
> 
> 1\. so happy everyone is enjoying the series so far! I'm truly touched!  
> 2\. this AU does not follow any canon, Geralt has his memory, the Nilfgaardians are as of now not a threat, Ciri is not a Child of Surprise as we have a prophecy to contend with, she isn't a princess or anything like that. Just so there is no confusion or misunderstanding. :3  
> 3\. The installment titles are going to change here on out as I've run out of 'how to' steam and the direction changed.
> 
> ANYWAYS! ENJOY!

“My turn,” Ciri leaned forward in Aderon’s saddle while she munched on an apple, “I spy with my Little Eye sooooooooooooooomeeeeeeeeeeeethiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing . . . _Red_.”

“Red?” Jaskier looked around at the snow-covered forest, “Where the blazes do you see-”

Geralt held a hand up to halt them because sure enough there was something red in the road, three red, six brown and two shiny somethings to be exact, “Ho there!” he called.

“Fine day, good sirs and ladies!” It was a trio of halflings wearing bright red caps with some symbol stitched into where the brim should be; a double-headed pig under a flowering apple tree on a yellow background, back from trading it would seem as their three spare ponies were laden with goods and each had a fat purse. They were accompanied by two armored humans, more than likely hired guards.

“Fine day indeed!” Jaskier called excitedly, halflings were well-known to love their drinking and singing, quite literally the bard’s bread and butter.

“Ya’ll pardon if we don’t stay to ask after your traveling,” A second halfling with her wild black hair poking out from under her cap, she glanced at the spare ponies, “But we must be off.”

“Of course,” Geralt said, making sure the little caravan had enough room on the road, “Can I ask what direction you are coming from?”

“South.” the third, final halfling muttered, fingering the small crossbow nocked with a green-fletched bolt, his curly brown hair framed a thin face and hazel eyes.

Geralt nodded, “Fair enough, can you tell me the condition of the road behind you? I can give you the road ahead.”

“Clear, the snow has been kept back by the mountains but the pass might be a bit much for such heavy horses.” The first halfling snickered, looking at the two guards who were sour-faced and on foot.

“We’ll manage.” Yennefer said stiffly, her eyes narrowed.

“Beggin’ your pardon, madam,” The second said hurriedly, “He meant no offense only we are in a bit of a hurry to get home.”

“You’ll find an easy time of it but that’s if you’re going back through a forest path to a human settlement at the mouth of the valley,” Jaskier frowned, “Is that the way you’re heading?”

The halflings looked at each other then started squabbling, the first groaned and reached about for the pack on his back, “I knew the map was bloody well upside down!”

“ _Upside down_?” The second squealed angrily, smacking her comrade’s cap clean off, “I’ll show you upside down! We’ve been travelin’ this way for nigh on a day and _now_ we find we’ve- h-hey, where are you two going?”

One of the guards made a rude hand gesture, “Bugger following you lot around when you don’t know how to read a fucking _map_ , there’s a lodge up this way, you half-pints are on your own!”

“Not walking all the way back! Pox on you an’ your guild!” The other agreed, making another hand gesture, just as rude as the first.

“We paid you!” The third halfling shouted, standing in his saddle.

“You paid us to travel with you as far as we were able, this is as far.” The first guard snapped.

“But-” The second halfling bit her lip.

There was a crow that called in the silence that followed before Ciri glanced up at Yennefer, “Think they’re screwed?”

“ _Language_!” Yennefer admonished, then sighed, “But yes.”

“Um . . . So . . . “ The first halfling got off his pony and walked up to Roach, patting her nose when she bent to sniff him, “Seeing as we are all going to be going the _same way_ , might we trouble you to . . . er . . . _escort_ us?”

Geralt cocked an eyebrow, “Mayhaps you should figure what way you're going first? We are in our own business and can’t be delayed.”

“No delay!” The third said eagerly despite his earlier confidence in his crossbow and the likelihood of its use, “We’re all heading back down the mountain!”

“We can pay!” The second added, glancing back at their spare ponies.

“ . . . How about this,” Geralt said, mind working, “You let our girl ride one of those ponies and you have yourself a deal.”

“Pah! She can _keep_ the damn thing! I know what you are, sir, recognize the medallion and those eyes, I do!” The first laughed, “You’re a Witcher! Worth a good two dozen of those human layabouts we hired, eh, Correy?”

Correy, the crossbow halfling, nodded slowly, “I’d say so if the tales are to be believed.”

“Right then, since we’ll be all friendly an’ such, I’m Hren Bogglin, and these are my business partners, guild mates and friends, Margodunasondra Waxwright and Correns Meadows. Sonny and Correy for short on them but my names short enough otherwise it’d just be a ‘hu’ or a ‘ren’ sound and what are those to call someone, eh, Witcher?” Hren winked and headed back over, “C’mon then, the little lady needs a pony! Let’s get this lot sorted quickly, I fear m’belly is empty and I’ll soon expire if it isn’t filled!”

Jaskier hopped down and joined the halflings eagerly at the mention of food, helping them move their goods while animatedly talking, “So nice to see friendly folk on the road, we’ve had quite a time, let me tell you!”

Correy cocked his head and frowned, “I know you from somewhere, don’t I?”

“I should say so!” Jaskier beamed and bowed with a flourish, “Jaskier or ‘Master Dandelion’ as I’m oft called, I-”

“No, that can’t be it, Master Dandelion’s hair isn’t that colour, are you perhaps a cousin?” Sonny asked, large brown eyes narrowed curiously and she tucked some of her bushy brown mop back under her cap.

Geralt and Yennefer had to hold in laughs while Ciri let out several at the scandalized look on Jaskier’s face as the bard stood tugging the hood of his cloak and his bonnet lower on his head, “Er, no, I _am_ Jaskier I just . . . my hair changed colour.”

“And how’s that? You some kind of vexling?” Correy laughed, his hazel eyes crinkled in a laugh as he brushed snow off his hairy feet.

“No, it’s just bleached!” Jaskier said testily, stomping to Phil once the smallest of the ponies, a chubby beige mare, was unloaded.

“Your mount awaits, m’lady.” Hren bowed with a flourish, doffing his red, shapeless hat at Ciri.

Ciri scrambled down and picked her way through the now-trampled snow to the mare, the girl patted the pony’s nose as it sniffed her, “Does she have a name?”

“Pony.” Correy shrugged, “We just bought them for the trip.”

“Hmm . . . “ Ciri frowned then smiled, “I’ll call her ‘Dove’.”

“Doesn’t look much like a dove.” Correy said shrugging again but he smirked, “Dove the pony, now there’s a ballad, eh, _Master Yellow-hair_?”

Jaskier’s face turned beet red and he sputtered out something that included several words in a language only a few present company spoke and Ciri was certain there were several words she was not allowed to use sprinkled throughout.

* * *

Dove kept up pretty well with the other ponies, the horses not so much but there didn’t seem to be the same sense of urgency as last night with the sun high in the air and once his pride had mended, Jaskier lead several songs that the halflings all seemed to know and readily joined his tenor with their trio of what could be considered sopranos, if Correy wasn’t horribly off-key and Hren wasn’t trying to imitate Sonny who could actually sing fairly well but her compatriots kept spoiling it.

Ciri was in side-splitting giggles as Sonny threw her cap at Hren then had to run through the snow to retrieve it, “I do _not_ sound like that, Hren!”

“Ya do so!” Hren howled, throwing his head back and laughing, “You sound like a strangled rabbit! _Skreeeeee-skreeeee-skreeee_!”

Geralt felt a slight scowl forming into an actual scowl on his face, wiggling a finger in his ear, “Fuck.”

Yennefer rode up next to him, her eyes watching the forest, “Here’s a riddle, is the extra noise deterring or attracting any threats?”

“Neither, if there were a threat I’d know.” Geralt muttered, “‘m thinking about last night.”

“Is it the lich?” Yennefer asked.

“Hmm,” Geralt nodded, watching Ciri and the halflings resuming her earlier game of ‘I spy’, “Ciri either doesn’t understand or can’t recall all of what it said to her and like I said, several of those things sound familiar. ‘Dove of the Morning’,” Geralt counted on his fingers, “‘Court of the Dead’ stand out readily.”

“I do recognize the ‘Court of the Dead’ bit but it’s from a book I studied ages ago, some nonsense about dead kings who made a pact . . . lots of blood shed and ‘involuntary’ burials. One story even tells-”

“Of a king who had his eldest son buried alive in the family tomb.” Jaskier finished tonelessly with eyes forward, suddenly on her other side, “Wrapped him in his shroud, sealed his death-mask to his face and closed the sarcophagus lid.” The sorceress and Witcher blinked at Jaskier who only snorted, “Not all the stories I know are about topless women and monsters, you know. I do know a fair bit of history and legends outside of you two, thank you.”

“What about this king? Why’d he do it? Not that that story is at all connected but-” Geralt muttered, scowling deeply.

Jaskier shrugged apologetically, “Who remembers the names of ancient conquerors long since dead? As far as the stories say, it was to honor a pact he made with a couple other kings, the number varies from two to fifty kings but what we call a ‘king’ today might have been little more than a chief of some tribe. Anyway, I can see you’re impatient, the story goes that they made some kind of pact or deal or something that they would all rise again to reclaim their old kingdoms. There’s some vagueness about the time of day, a few predictions but nothing that I would say was outside of some ghost story to scare children around a fire.”

“Except one of those ‘ghost stories’ chased us through the woods.” Yennefer pointed out.

“Well, yes but we don’t know if it was from _that_ ghost story, we are dealing with a prophecy after all and those tend to get plenty of spin-offs and addendums the more people hear of it. Perhaps someone told someone who also told someone a similar story that got turned into its own story and thus the cycle continues.” Jaskier grimaced, “You know that I have heard _fourteen_ versions of a song I wrote? See my point?”

“Maybe there is no connection,” Geralt muttered, his eyes tracking Ciri as she urged Dove to hurry to keep up with Roach, “And maybe there is.” To Ciri now, “Pony holding up?”

“Indeed.” Ciri straightened her back and affected a very good imitation of Geralt’s scowl, “Any danger ahead, commander?”

“None as of now, m’lady.” Geralt said in mock-seriousness then he leaned down to put his hand on the top of her head, pulling the hood of her cloak up gently, “I haven’t heard or sensed anything out of the ordinary since sun-up.”

Ciri visibly relaxed then adjusted her grip on the reins, “Excellent, keep up the good work.” Then she turned Dove and sped back to the halflings who were once more trying to harmonize.

“She’s terrified.” Jaskier murmured, looking worriedly at Geralt and Yennefer.

“Of course she is, she just came face-to-face with a horde of undead led by a rotting king who told her a bunch of ominous tripe.” Yennefer snapped, then her voice softened, “The most terrifying thing she had to worry about a few months ago was a spider in the washtub, now she’s being pursued, nay, _hunted_ by gods only know what!”

“She’s putting on a brave face.” Geralt observed, glancing over his shoulder at the girl who was showing the halflings her sword.

“She has no choice.” Yennefer murmured.

* * *

Darin spat out a glob of blood and sniffled through his broken nose, his eyes streaming and he coughed, he held tightly on to his side where ribs were probably broken and he glared with deep loathing at the man beating him.

"Ya lil bastard!" Mr. Jebbson roared, another kick to the boy's belly sent him skidding across the barn floor into a pile of greasy rags, "who’re ya loyal ta, eh? That lil whore or yer own flesh an'-"

Darin covered his head with his arms but there was a loud clang and a thud, he looked up to see his mother, Delilah Jebbson, standing over her husband with a heavy skillet in her hand, her breast heaving with the exertion. She wasn't a pretty woman, square of shoulder and heavy of brow with a lurching step and heavy hand but now she was the most beautiful thing in his eyes as she screamed at the struggling man prone before her and the skillet swung down with tremendous force. Darin sat open mouthed as he watched.

" **YA'LL NAE LAY A HAND ON M'BOY 'GAIN YA DIRTY WHORESON!"** She spat on him once he stopped moving and shrieked in his ear. " **HE AIN'T EVEN YOURS YA MAGGOT-RIDDEN HOG HOOF**!" 

Darin blinked at her, "... Ma?"

Delilah was breathing heavily and she dropped the pan, wiping her brow and eyes on her sleeve, sobbing, "Forgive me, Darin, me own son, forgive me m’human fear, but he's not yer father."

Darin blinked and slowly stood up, "wot?"

"Yer not even wholly human, m’son, Darin," she looked at him with a heartbroken kind of face, all crumpled lines, unfamiliar on the usually flat, expressionless-ness his mother oft adopted.

"'M-'m not?" Darin's eyes widened further, at least the one not swollen shut.

"No, ya silly thing," she laughed bitterly, "how else are ya nearly the height o' a man at barely twelve? Nay, yer father was an ogre, Darin, big brute of a man, killed a trio o' brigands that were tormentin' m'family before I met the likes o' Jebbson. The ogre, yer father, Tixren, was annoyed by the noise so he killed ‘em an' he stayed fer dinner an'... well…he called me a 'great beauty' an' was kind ta me." she shrugged, "I fled when I was found out and he was run off, probably dead now, but I met Jebbson shortly thereafter, I got him drunk an' convinced him he'd got me with child." Delilah looked away, "i had no choice … "

Darin swallowed thickly, "'m an o-ogre?"

"Half, aye." Delilah nodded, "yer likely ta start growing yer tusks in and ear tufts an' wotnot, I'm ashamed ta say 've been druggin' ya ta keep ya stunted, keep ya from showin' yer other half ... yer father had such bristly ears . . . like a pig."

Darin was about to ask a thousand and two questions but Jebbson stirred slightly, "wot 'bout him?"

"Bugger if I know, I got yer two little sisters ta think o'... " Delilah looked at him apologetically again, her eyes filling, "forgive me, Darin, there's a bag waitin fer ya at the house, take it an' go, never come back. Don't worry 'bout us, "

Darin's eyes welled up and spilled over, "Ma…"

"Go, be a swordsmith, tell them yer part ogre, be able ta tell when the drugs wear off, an' ya’ll have work in no time. Go!" Delilah shoved her son toward the barn door then turned to her husband who was slowly coming to.

Darin fled, grabbing the bag and glancing one last time at his sisters by the hearth with their cob-dolls, then he turned and ran. Darin was somewhere down the road when he stopped to take a breath and sat on a stump by the ditch. He shivered and hugged himself. "An ogre… _feck_ … " he swallowed and touched his mouth. _Tusks will grow in, eh?_ He sniffled and shook his head, pressing into his hands, "A’ight, so 'm half ogre, so wot? I'll get work an' I'll make swords! Everyone will know the name o' Darin Je- … _no_ ," Darin looked up, anger burning bright in his eyes, " . . . Tixren . . . _Tixrenson_ , that's m'name, Darin Tixrenson, half ogre swordsmith!" He smiled and stood up, picking up his pack and turning toward the West, "I will see ya 'gain, Ciri, I know it." The snow crunched under the Half Ogre's feet as he marched, toward what, he knew not but wherever he ended up, he had a name to live up to and a world to see.

* * *

“Eh, what’cha got there?” Hren sat next to Ciri by the fire, extending his hands to the flames to warm them.

“Oh, just something a friend of mine made me,” Ciri put the essentially useless knife back in her satchel, “He wants to be a swordsmith. I hope he becomes one some day . . . I didn’t get to say goodbye properly before we had to leave.”

Hren nodded sympathetically, glancing at his two traveling companions, “Never know, though, do ya? True friendship is hard to come by for the likes of us oddfolk.”

“‘Oddfolk’?” Ciri asked, wrinkling her nose, “Who are they?”

“We are, you are, your little band is,” Hren shrugged, “Oddfolk are people that don’t quite belong, don’t fit in. Halflings make pretty good ways for themselves in trading and farming but humans act funny around us. Your witcher and sorceress and mayhaps even the bard, know what I mean and I’ll bet you’ve felt it too if just from guilt by association.”

“What’s that mean?” Ciri asked, looking over at Geralt.

“It means that you’re treated the same as us because you’re with us.” Geralt explained as he watched the two rabbits Correy had caught turning on a spit.

“Oh. Well, yes then.” Ciri nodded, “So we’re all oddfolk then?”

“Aye,” Correy nodded, “the road is full of oddfolk, keep your eyes open and they might just help you on your way. That's what Master Star says anyways."

Jaskier cocked his head, "'Master Star'? I thought I recognized your seal, is that the crest of the 'Prosperous Pig Guild', yes?"

Sonny nodded, "Oh yes! Do you know Ellowen?"

Jaskier blushed a bit and cleared his throat, "I . . . _may_ have heard of him."

Hren chuckled, "Well, at any length, it's nice to meet oddfolk on the road. Must be Fate of some kind, eh?”

“Perhaps.” Yennefer murmured, her eyes intent on the barrier stone.

“What’s that now?” Sonny leaned over curiously, her cap discarded so that her wild hair fluffed about her head.

“Barrier stone, we’re using it to ward off magical creatures and attacks.” Yennefer explained softly, not taking her eyes off the rough surface as slowly the carved runes became sharper, more defined.

“Well isn’t that a neat trick?” Sonny's eyes widened and she hurried over to Hren, “We should get one of those!”

“Oh? Expecting many wizards to throw bolts at us?” Correy scoffed, “I’d wager they’re very expensive, hard to come by and she said ‘magical’, Sonny, since when is a pack of wolves or panthers ‘magical’?”

Yennefer snorted, “Not to mention it wears off the longer it holds if you don’t maintain the spell yourself.” She stood and brushed snow off her pants, “And you couldn’t afford it.”

“There ya go.” Correy nodded to the crestfallen Sonny.

“Well, it sounded like a good idea.” She muttered, sullenly sitting next to Hren.

“It was, we just didn’t have it.” Hren chuckled and patted her hair only for it to spring back up.

* * *

Ciri snuggled into Geralt, her eyes staring at a patch on his black armor, “Geralt?” She whispered.

“Hm?” Geralt didn’t open his eyes, Correy and Hren were on first watch so he was sure he had a few hours more before his turn.

“I can’t sleep,” She propped herself up on the bedroll, she was positioned closest to the fire with Geralt lying on his side to protect her from the wind, “I- . . . I keep seeing that _thing_.”

One of Geralt’s yellow eyes slowly opened, he looked around the camp, Yennefer and Jaskier were under their cloaks next to his and Ciri’s spot with Sonny snoring loudly with the horses and Hren and Correy were also fast asleep leaning against some trees. The Witcher sighed and started to sit up, he might as well take his watch now, “The lich?”

Ciri nodded, “It’s voice was _terrible_ , like rubbing two pieces of rough wood together . . . “

Geralt sat up slowly, rubbing his face, he hadn’t shaved in some time and had a beard starting. He slowly got up and turned to Roach’s saddle which he’d been using as a pillow, he took out a waterskin and drank deeply, wiping his mouth and sitting back down to stoke the fire, “Do you remember all of what it said?”

“No.” Ciri said in a small voice, her eyes were tired and there were dark circles beginning to form under them.

Geralt grimaced and motioned for her to lie back down while he sat up, “Let’s talk about something more pleasant.”

“Alright.” Ciri laid back down, snuggling up to Geralt’s leg, her head on his thigh, “What’s Kaer Mohren?”

“It’s where I grew up and trained to be a Witcher with my mentor, Vesemir. Have I never spoken of it? Hmm.” Geralt said softly, his fingers sinking into Ciri’s unruly hair, it was getting long again.

“Will I ever see it?” Ciri asked softly, her eyes closing and she yawned.

“Of course, I’ll take you there in the summer after the spring thaw when the pass opens up and the trail is clear,” Geralt stared into the fire, a slight smile tugging at his lips, “the view of the mountain pass is beautiful . . . “

“What’s Vesemir like?” Ciri asked sleepily, her thin arm wrapping around Geralt’s waist.

“Old.” Geralt chuckled, “Stern . . . Fair . . . he understands things . . . knows things . . . “

“Did he teach you how to be a Witcher?” Ciri’s eyes slid closed and she yawned.

“Among other things.” Geralt agreed, absently stroking the girl’s hair. Ciri was already sleeping by the time he looked down, expecting more questions but all he got in response was a soft snore. The Witcher smiled and went back to staring out into the silent, dark forest with the faint hum of the stone making his medallion shiver ever so slightly.

* * *

Jaskier scratched at his jaw irritably, “My kingdom for a barber . . . “

“You’re fine, well, besides it being a very different colour from your hair.” Geralt said, stopping at the crossroads and looking at their halfling charges, “If you take this road it will bring you in the right direction, it should be clear but there’s two outposts fairly close together so you shouldn’t have trouble finding another escort.”

Hren nodded, patting his white pony’s neck, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Geralt of Rivia, you lot proved much better company than our last entourage!”

Sonny nodded emphatically, her cap once more smashed down on her hair, “Indeed! Even you can muster a smile, Sir Witcher!”

“Master Kingcup here was a welcome change as well.” Correy said, snickering as Jaskier’s face reddened.

“It’s Master Da- oh nevermind, why should I expect more from someone who singing like a dying crow?” Jaskier sniffed then scratched at his nose, “Damn facial hair getting up my nose!”

“You have barely any mustaches, what are you- Ugh!” Yennefer turned to Ciri, “Cirilla, say thank you to the halflings for letting you use their pony, it’s time to part ways.”

Ciri nodded a bit sadly and was about to dismount but Hren waved a hand and rode up to Geralt, “Ah, she can keep the pony, won’t be hard for it to keep up once you get on the road and you can always sell it if you need to, ours will bear our spoils of market just fine and we got our three we’re already on.”

“I can keep her?” Ciri looked between her guardians and the halflings.

“If Mr. Hren says so then yes.” Geralt nodded, turning to the halfling, “That’s a generous gift. What do we say, Ciri?”

“Thank you!” Ciri leaned forward to hug the pony mare’s neck tightly before urging her to ride up next to Roach, sitting a bit straighter in the saddle.

“You’re welcome, young miss,” Hren tipped his cap then looked at Geralt, “Now as for you three, you can understand that while I intend to repay you for your services, since there was no danger or threat in the night . . . “ He trailed off looking at Geralt expectantly.

The Witcher sighed, he quickly tallied all their funds in his head, there was very little of what he’d made before the snow fell left, plus Jaskier and Yennefer’s purses would be needed until they reached Vizima, still some ways off and especially if the weather didn’t hold and they couldn’t just camp out in the open too often. He looked back at Hren and nodded, “Give us a quarter of your guards fee, I’d say with the pony that about makes it even?”

Hren nodded and quickly reached into his cloak to produce a small brown purse that he held out to Geralt, “Here, a few extra pieces of silver for keeping a slow pace for our ponies. Thank you kindly, safe travels and clear skies, my friends.”

They waved the little group of halflings and their laden ponies then turned south-west, continuing to Vizima.

* * *

Ciri’s mouth hung open as she looked around the bustling city streets, Geralt leaned down and took Dove’s reins to make sure the gobsmacked girl didn’t get left behind, “Mouth closed or the street flies will get in, eh?”

Ciri’s mouth snapped shut with a click and she looked up at Geralt, “Where are we going now then?”

“The Temple of Melitele.” He said, glancing about, he was not an uncommon sight in Vizima, most of his contracts of recent years had come from here, but it didn’t mean he was comfortable. Cities made his skin crawl and his head hurt, they needed to do their business and get out before-

“Oi, Witcher! Oi over ‘ere!” 

Geralt closed his eyes, “Fuck.” he turned slowly as a pair of young men in plain clothes started to tromp towards them, “Not today, lads, I’m heading to the temple on serious business.”

“We know, we were sent to fetch ya.” One of the men said readily, too readily.

“I’ll bet.” Jaskier muttered, his hands slid to his purse and one of the hilts of his knives.

“Honest! We were to deliver a message, Mother Nenneke said-” The second started.

“Then I’ll hear it from her lips.” Geralt said impatiently, eyes narrowed.

“She ain’t there, that’s what I’m tryin’ to tell you!” The second finished with a roll of his eyes, “She ain’t at the temple as of right now but if you come with us she’ll see you there presently.”

The other nodded, "Wouldn't make sense if you made it the city gates without someone knowing you. She heard you were coming so she sent us to-"

Geralt frowned, staring at them, they weren't _lying_ but they certainly weren't telling everything, “Why wouldn’t I meet the Abbess at the Temple? What's going on?”

Yennefer and Jaskier maneuvered their horses to flank Geralt’s and Ciri’s pony turned around to face an interesting cart so that she had to twist in the saddle to see what was happening. The two men grimaced at each other then one, shorter than the other, stepped forward and cleared his throat, “Witcher, sir, we were sent ta intercept you on behalf of Mother Nenneke.”

“Why?” Geralt pressed.

“We’re not to say anything until we’re inside the castle walls.” The other said firmly, “Please, just come with us.”

Geralt leaned back in the saddle and turned to Jaskier and Yennefer, “ . . . hmm.”

“Suspicious, isn’t it?” Jaskier asked, frowning at the messengers, one of which was wiggling a finger in his ear and pulled out some wax.

“Beyond it, in fact.” Yennefer muttered, “Why wouldn’t Nenneke want to meet at the Temple?”

“I’m sure she has her reasons . . . “ Geralt muttered doubtfully, “I’ll go ahead, you take Ciri and wait for me to return.”

“We’ll rendevous back at the Hairy Bear shall we?” Jaskier asked hopefully.

“ _No_ ,” Yennefer narrowed her eyes, “We’ll head to the New Narakort, much better part of town.” 

“That’s all well and good,” The short messenger said, “But the girl is to go as well.”

The air was sucked out of the immediate area and all three looked at the two hapless deliverers of inconvenience. 

Ciri looked about the adults then back at the two men, “Why?”

The men looked at her then each other as if they hadn’t rehearsed what to say if the girl asked. The tall one shrugged, “‘S what we were told.”

Ciri carefully stood in her saddle and nimbly hopped over to stand behind Geralt on the back of Roach’s saddle, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in close, “Think we should comply?”

“Dunno,” Geralt leaned back a bit, “Think you can take ‘em if they get too shifty?”

“I’ll take the tall one, you take the short one.” Ciri smirked then sat down, wrapping her arms around Geralt’s waist from behind, “I’m ready.”

Geralt handed Dove’s reins to Jaskier, looking at Yennefer, “Give us an hour, if we aren’t back by then, come get us.”

Yennefer nodded, her eyes flitted about from Ciri to the bundle on the back of Aderon’s saddle, “Make it brief as you can, we need to keep moving.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nodded then turned and nodded for the men to lead the way but didn’t get off Roach.

* * *

“I didn’t believe it at first.” Geralt said, frowning deeply as he was led into a small room near the kitchens, Ciri clung to his arm, her eyes wide.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Geralt, I’ve been here all night.” Mother Nenneke wiped sweat from her brow and frowned at him, “There was a suspected case of plague and I was personally monitoring the dignitary who brought it, passed in the night, poor bastard, and they wanted to keep it quiet. Pah! It looked more like some unsavory disease he caught in a brothel rather than something he brought. I’m not sure which is worse, tried to leave many times telling them exactly what it was and how he would soon expire but oh no, wouldn’t hear of it! Bunch of ignorant fools is what they are, made me stay the whole night for nothing.” The matronly priestess shifted then looked at Ciri, “Oh my . . . “

Geralt squatted down next to Ciri, “Nenneke, this is Cirilla Fiona. Ciri, this is Mother Nenneke of Melitele.”

“Just Nenneke if you don’t mind,” Nenneke murmured, “The ‘Mother’ bit makes me feel my years and I have many to feel.” She moved around the short table she was sitting at refreshing herself and stood regarding Ciri with her hands folded in her wide sleeves, “Well, come here, let’s have a look at you.”

Geralt stood and gave the girl a slight nudge when she looked up at him uncertainly, “Am I to curtsy or kiss your hand? Never met a priestess before.” She scuffed the stone floor with her boot.

Nenneke’s eyebrow rose and she chuckled, “Neither, girl,” the matron regarded Ciri with a critical eye, up, down, then at her face, “Goodness, she’s so thin, Geralt what are you feeding her?”

“Glop and horse piss.” Ciri muttered under her breath, holding in a smirk just barely.

“Nenneke.“ Geralt crossed his arms, eyebrow cocked.

“Oh alright, alright,” Nenneke scoffed, “I will say that if I didn’t already know it to be impossible, I’d say this was your child in every sense.”

“Why’s it impossible? Is it like with Yen?” Ciri asked, craning her neck to look around at Geralt who cleared his throat.

“Nenneke, we’re in a bit of trouble,” Geralt said quickly, moving around to be closer to the priestess, “do you remember the prophecy one of yours gave me some years ago? Maybe three or four back?”

Nenneke frowned deeply then cleared her throat, “I do.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find her or at least a copy, do you?” Geralt asked, feeling for once a bit hopeful.

“ . . . no,” Nenneke shook her head, “Vanya was given the prophecy to pass to you, I could not read it and neither could she, but she did visit the woman who spoke it to her.”

“Could I speak to Vanya at least? Find out what sh-”

Nenneke shook her head, raising a hand then folding it back into her sleeves, “Firstly, the old woman’s name is Ingris and she lives in a hovel outside of Murky Water. Secondly . . . Vanya was driven mad by nightmares of a skull-faced king and the barking of hounds, shrieking of horses . . . she threw herself off the city gates not a month after you left.”

Geralt lowered his head slightly, “I’m . . . I’m so sorry . . . “

Nenneke sighed and shook her head, “No one could have planned for such eventualities, Geralt, we tried to help her but the words haunted her, she could hear them, see them plain as day but any time she tried to write them then read them or recite the verses, gibberish. It is both upsetting and unsettling.” She took a deep breath, turned to look at Ciri and smiled kindly, “As I said . . . spitting image. I’m sorry I cannot help you further beyond pointing you to Ingris."

"If that's all you can do then thank you." He turned to leave but Nenneke put a hand on his arm, " . . . unless it isn't?"

"Leave Ciri at the Temple with me while you go to Murky Water. If she is as important as I think, then she should be kept safe."

Geralt opened his mouth but Ciri stepped up, "Will I be safe from the dead in the temple?" She asked in a mockingly innocent voice.

Nenneke's eyebrow rose and she looked at Geralt, " _spitting image_ …" she turned her attention to the girl, "I'll bet you'd like to hear all about Geralt when he was your age, wouldn't you?"

Ciri blinked then a wicked smile crossed her face, "Did he cry as much when his wounds are cleaned then as he does now?"

Geralt grunted and scowled while Nenneke laughed, "oh yes, he did." She reached out and hesitated to take Ciri's hand a moment, giving her a chance to pull away then took the girls hand in hers, "you'll be safe there as anywhere, at least you won't be in the open."

Geralt watched them for a moment with a mildly bemused expression, "alright, Yen, Jaskier and I will-"

"Oh, those two are here, are they?" Nenneke wrinkled her nose slightly.

"Things are fine, Nenneke, we're fine." Geralt held a hand up, "it's been two years, can't we all just _get along_?"

The priestess narrowed her eyes slightly then shrugged, "what business is it of mine what you three do to or with each other? Come along, Cirilla, it's time for supper soon."

Ciri wrinkled her nose, looking at Geralt, waving him closer, "Geralt?"

Geralt frowned slightly and bent down, "Yes?"

Ciri fidgeted and licked her lips, "I want to call you- … but I didn't ask permission first and before I was scared and thought maybe we wouldn't-" she swallowed and breathed out shakily, "now I want to ask."

Geralt swallowed and put his hands on her shoulders, "I don't mind."

The girls eyes were huge and she leaned forward to put a thin arm around his neck, he felt her breathe out then she whispered, "I'll see you later, Papa." Then she let him go quickly and stepped back, eyes searching his face curiously.

Geralt smiled and reached out to stroke some blonde hair off her forehead, "I'll be back for supper."

* * *

"Damn it all!" Jaskier huffed as they trudged toward a ramshackle hovel on the edge of Murky Water. He'd been just getting ready to tuck into a steaming bowl of onion soup with a delicate crust of bread and a very fragrant wedge of cheese when the Witcher grabbed him ‘round the collar and hauled him out to the marshes to the south of Vizima, “Why, oh noble one, _am i going as well?_ Aren’t prophecies and fate and all that you and Yennefer’s mode of entertainment or what have you?”

Geralt didn’t answer right away as he kicked a path through the bit of snow, glancing over his shoulder briefly then he shrugged, “Something tells me you should hear it as well.”

“Why? You said on the way over that the girl who recorded it went mad! And that no one can read it but you-”

“No one can read it but those it was _meant_ for.” Yennefer corrected, stepping over a branch that had remained hidden under the snow until she trod on it and almost fell over.

“Alright, _fine_ , that still doesn’t explain why I’m _here_ if I’ll be no help or use and I distinctly remember losing the first copy!” Jaskier snapped as he put his foot through what he’d thought was just snow but actually had a puddle under it and now his boot was sodden. He blinked down at his foot then breathed in slowly, “You know what, let me be the one to record it, maybe I’ll lose my mind and throw myself into the fucking lake!”

Yennefer grunted as Geralt helped her and Jaskier to stand by the hovel, her nose wrinkled at the acrid smoke that coiled out of a stout metal chimney, the shack looked to be made of woven branches and she glanced at the paper windows and the door that was made of what appeared to be the old bed of a cart as you could see where the wood had faded around metal fixtures long since removed. The sorceress frowned, “I can think of a million reasons why it’s useless for me to be here as well and yet . . . “

They looked at each other and Jaskier frowned, “I . . . I can’t just leave. I _have_ to be here, in this place with you both.”

“I feel the same.” Yennefer murmured, looking at Geralt, “Do you feel it?”

“I feel something.” Geralt murmured, but it wasn’t so much an emotion, a _feeling_ as it was a pull, an unspoken agreement between the three of them and . . . to some extent, Ciri.

Jaskier swallowed and was about to speak when the door opened and the smell of pickled fish and oily wood smoke billowed out. An old woman, her back bent and stooped, nose long and crooked, and her eyes were completely white leaned out the door, but the dress she wore was clean and well-kept and she had a garland of dried flowers set on her haphazardly braided gray hair, probably left there simply because she’d forgotten them. She smiled slowly, her mouth full of gaps but the smile was still pleasant and she gave off a very calming energy, “I’ve been expecting you, sirs and lady, but you won’t get any warmer standing up to your ass in snow, c’mon then. I’d say don’t mind the smell but it won’t deter you, never does.”

Geralt ducked to follow her back in through the squat door when he realized he was the only one, he looked back at Yennefer and Jaskier, “Well?”

“It’s just . . . “ Yennefer’s face scrunched up as she held her sleeve to her mouth and nose.

Jaskier nodded in agreement, “An aroma that will haunt my waking nightmares and never wash out of my skin for as long as I shall li-”

He didn’t get to finish and Yennefer didn’t get to add to the reasons for not entering but Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the arm and tugged him inside with the Sorceress, not wanting to be out in the snow alone, close behind.

* * *

Ingris’s hovel was as simple as one would assume given the exterior, there was a low bed to one side, a tiny table and two stools by a squat iron stove that was leaking a thin coil of smoke into the room, and hanging from the ceiling were bunches and bunches of drying herbs, mushrooms, tree branches, etc.. The old woman shuffled to the stove and started to stir a small cauldron bubbling away, “So . . . did you lose it or destroy it? People often think if they just destroy the parchment the words are on, somehow it’ll make a damned difference. Foolish really. You’re wondering things, aren’t you, Witcher? That’s right, I know who and what you are, remember your smell, does that surprise you? Of course it does, anything a blind old woman does for herself is somehow shocking to the world, I hear it enough with opinions on how and where I choose to live, oh aye, I could live pretty fancy given that _all_ of my predictions come true. What, don’t believe me, Sorceress? I can feel the magic rolling off you, don’t answer the question, it doesn’t matter what any of you lot _believe_ because Fate doesn’t give a rat’s ass and neither do I. So which was it, lose it or destroy it?” Her sightless eyes fell on Geralt as she stirred.

“I lost it.” Jaskier said softly.

Ingris turned to him, “Did you?”

“I did.” He repeated.

“How?” She let the spoon go and put her hands on her hips.

“We were in a terrible hurry . . . “ Jaskier muttered, “Geralt kept saying-”

“No, you idiot, I don’t mean _why_ did you lose it, I mean _how_!” Ingris snapped, crossing her arms now, surprisingly well-manicured fingernails tapped her skinny elbow impatiently.

“It was just left.” Jaskier shrugged, “Went back for it-”

“And it was gone, wasn’t it? Ha, of course it was, and how- nevermind, you didn’t come here for a tongue-lashing from an old blind woman.” Ingris went back to the cauldron, “You, cat-eyes, help me move this to the table. Don’t pull a face, I’m not going to offer a bowl to you . . . yes, just there. Thank you and everyone be seated somewhere. No, I said, _you_ sit, I have to stand and stir the damn pot.”

They watched her for a moment then Yennefer cleared her throat, “I don’t mean to sound impatient but we are in a terrible hurry-”

“Oh, are you? Picked a bad time to need a _repeat_ prediction, which is to say any time is a bad time for needing a repeat prediction. I don’t just call on Fate and Destiny and they very nicely wrap it up and drop it into my lap, you know! The first time it just hits me like an iron skillet, that’s why that poor unfortunate little priestess was the one that had to write it down. Poor girl was coming to help me mend something and the Sight came upon me . . . “ Ingris looked sad for a moment, staring into the pot, “ . . . and people wonder why I stay out here on this wretched hillock and never took another husband.”

They quietly watched her, Jaskier leaned on the doorway, “So . . . how long do we have to wait?”

“You want a repeat on a two year old prediction, you’re going to sit your ass down and wait for it, young man!” Ingris snapped, pulled from her memories, “And if I get interrupted once more, I swear I’ll bring this ladle down on some skulls! It’s iron and _very_ sturdy!”

Geralt gave Jaskier a withering look then turned back to Ingris, “Take your time, grandmother, we’ve nowhere to be.”

“But you have someone waiting,” Ingris guessed, correctly, still stirring, “Four souls intertwined in the Strings of Fate, what a peculiar thing . . . “

“How?” Yennefer asked, admittedly she didn’t like fortune tellers and soothsayers, divining the future and whatnot, but she found herself intrigued by the old woman.

Ingris shrugged one stooped shoulder, “Seers, such as myself, are few and far between. Oh there are those who would claim to have Sight, but only the blind,” Here she tapped her left eyebrow, “Can truly _see_ , that’s how you know a true musician on the Harp of Destiny, plucking the Strings of Fate, we’re all blind and not just sight that gradually dulls with age and cataracts but complete darkness from the time my first cries were heard in the world to the moment I will lie on that little trundle and breath my last sigh. Ah, but I digress, the strings of Fate are oft tangled and knotted, it is the way of willful, free-thinking beings mucking about and living their lives and more often then not, those strings braid around each other, some for one or two twists, some with recurring knots, some with breaks between the ties and twists so that the strings hold each other up, but very, _very_ rarely, strings will weave together, not twisting or knotting but a seamless, graceful weave making them stronger. Two strings, makes sense by the course of nature, three for a child still just as expected, but four? Four strings holding each other and weaving instead of knotting or twisting? What a gorgeous tapestry . . . “ Her eyes became misty and she looked back at the cauldron, “That is the only reason I am going to risk a great deal of my remaining sanity to give you what you seek. Something so unique and precious must be allowed to exist in a world shrouded in p-”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed and he felt his medallion shiver, he glanced at Yennefer then Jaskier who were intently watching the woman, Geralt looked at her again, “Ingris?”

Ingris shuddered, “I see-”

“What?” Three voices asked in hushed tones despite the increase in heartbeats (well, two anyway) and wide eyes.

Ingris rolled her eyes and cocked her head in annoyance, “I _see_ ,” She repeated firmly, her voice became hushed and tonal,

_“A wolf in the company of birds . . ._

_Three birds! Raven, Nightingale and Dove . . ._

_Raven is cunning beyond measure . . ._

_Nightingale is swift of tongue . . ._

_But the Dove of the Morning gleams bright . . ._

_The Dove struggles to fly, it falls, again and again . . ._

_The birds watch and the wolf watches but none can reach the dove to help . . ._

_The Dove lands . . ._

_They protect her until she takes flight once more . . ._

_Darkness looms on the horizon . . ._

_Death with a face!_

_Hounds and Horse of Bone and Rotted Sinew!_

_A Great Army, bristling like a wall of Thorns!_

_. . . the Dove falls in Shadowy claws . . ._

_. . . It does not rise again . . . “_

They were quiet, the prophecy burned in their minds, their ears ringing with the words, none would forget it now. Geralt took a slow breath, “What,” He cleared his throat and it did not help, “What does it mean?” He asked hoarsely, but he already knew the answer he feared most. The growing gnawing fear that had gripped him when he first read the words, thrusting it at Jaskier for safe-keeping so he wouldn’t have to see them . . . then the last time as he burned the parchment over a candle before they set out the next morning looking for some dove . . . 

The crone gave a rattling breath, the area around her sightless eyes tightened and she spoke in a voice not hers,

_“Come forth, Great Hunter of Evil to kneel at the foot of the Court of the Dead!_

_You shall bring about the Final Fall!_

_You shall seek to pay in silver what only blood can sate!_

_You shall bargain and plead but none shall hear!_

_You shall howl in a Dead Man’s voice but will not be spared!_

_You shall bellow in a Commander’s voice but no one will rally to your side!_

_You shall weep in a Father’s voice and none but the wind will know._

_You shall try._

_You shall fail._

_Spite your Name and your Worth!_

_Fear the shadows as they grasp your ankles!_

_For within the Throne Room of the Damned and Cursed,_

_You are outnumbered three and three and three and three!”_

Ingris collapsed on her bed, breathing heavily, her silver hair sticking to her head, sweat and tears running down her face, “See . . . why . . . we . . . don’t . . . do . . . repeats? . . . I’m fucking ninety-seven years old, dammit!” She took another deep breath and sat up, “Leave it, the damn soup is cold now anyway.” She brushed her hair back and looked at Geralt with a pained expression, “Doesn’t take a genius to figure out why that poor girl was driven insane, can you imagine hearing all of that and _not_ knowing any of it? Never knowing any of it? Ugh . . . “

Geralt didn’t speak, he stared at the rough grain of the table, “What. Does. It. Mean?”

“Hell if I know,” Ingris snapped, glaring at him, “You wanted a prophecy, there, you’ve got your damn prophecy! I’m not in the business of deciphering that bloody nonsense, I just spout it and hope whoever heard it was meant to and won’t throw themselves off fucking buildings! You go figure out your stupid destiny and how the strings weave! I have no more answers than a fat old toad!”

Yennefer leaned forward, “Ingris.”

The woman turned to Yennefer in surprise, “Yes?”

“How . . . how certain are-”

“My predictions,” Ingris said in a soft, cold voice, “Are _never_ wrong. Never. And I am not boasting,” Here her voice quavered, “Sight is a gift and a curse, just as your magic is, Yennefer of Vengerberg, it gives so much but it robs us of a great deal more, does it not? I wish a thousand times that my prediction that my father would die saving a horse from drowning or that the crops would fail so that we’d have another mass grave of tiny bodies to bury had never come true, but they did. My father’s skull was caved in by a panicked drowning animal that died anyway two days later of pneumonia,” She frowned, “He laughed when I warmed him of it that day over porridge . . . “ Her head tilted and she leaned forward, “Do you know that all Seers predict their own Destiny? I did. Do you want to hear it?”

Yennefer shook her head and Jaskier was fidgeting to go.

Ingris laughed, looking at Geralt who was silently staring at the table, “They assume it’s my death or something equally horrid.” She looked at Yennefer, “I predicted my one happiness, Sorceress, my one great joy,” Her eyes filled with tears and she smiled, “I predicted that I would have a child, just one, the most beautiful little boy, though I would never behold his face. He was my heart and soul and I handed him to a guildmaster to learn a trade, protect him from my curse, my gift. He’s dead now some forty years succeeded by a dozen daughters and his lovely wife . . . never met them, never will. Ah, but do you want to know what my happiness would be? Do you want to guess what the 'prophecy' for myself said?”

Yen shook her head again, this time tearfully.

Ingris laughed, “Again with assuming the worst! How jaded you lot are! My prophecy told me that my one true desire, my greatest, deepest, most desperate longing would be fulfilled. I won’t ask if you’d like to know what it is, I can sense you’ve changed your mind and are now interested.” Ingris closed her eyes, still smiling, “When I die, I will get to see my child’s face, his life, not just a hallucination brought about by the brain fighting death and fear, but I’ll _see_ it, I’ll see everything that boy was. As I slip past the dense fog to whatever or wherever is on the other side, I’ll see him, _Marrick_ , my own little miracle for the first time and the last time. So you see, do you not? Even the grimmest, most sorrowful moments can have a flash of brilliance, a dazzling of joy?” Ingris leaned forward, her eyes open and they knew so much more than one might guess possible for eyes that never saw, “Master Witcher, tell me, why do you weep?”

* * *

Ciri sat up with Nenneke, helping the priestess to pack up her things and head to the temple, the little girl looked curiously around the ample rooms the Abbess occupied while in Vizima, “Do you think they’ll be much longer?”

“Do I make you anxious?” Nenneke asked, eyebrow raised.

“Oh, no, ma’am,” Ciri shook her head and smiled, “Only, a lot of things have happened and I . . . well . . . “

“You don’t want to be far from them.” She finished for Ciri, she nodded and leaned back, her hands folded on her stomach, “How are they? Geralt is never forthcoming with details.”

“Well,” Ciri shrugged, “Before we had to high-tail it down the mountain, things were good. We lived in apartments above Yen’s store and Jask was going to be hired by a Lord and Lady to sing- oh, but he left his lute behi-”

“Left his lute?” Nenneke’s brow furrowed, “That can’t be Jaskier, last I knew that thing was fused to him.”

“Well, he left it behind so we’d be faster and so he could protect me better. Good thing too.” Ciri nodded to herself, “And Yen had her store . . . she would order sweets even though she didn’t sell that in her shop and would give them to me. Yen gave up trying to pretend she’d made a mistake a few times in.”

“Yennefer?” Nenneke looked even more skeptical, “So her and Geralt are getting along again?”

“Of course, all three of them,” Ciri blinked at Nenneke, as if the old woman had forgotten who they were talking about, “I used to like crawling in bed with the three of them when it was stormy or cold out or when I had bad dreams.”

“ . . . interesting,” Nenneke’s mouth twitched in a slow smile and she reached for a book that had flowers drying between the pages, “Tell me, Ciri, where are you from?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” Ciri said, shrugging, “I can’t remember. I was just in the forest walking about looking for something that I couldn’t think of and then Geralt was there with Jask and Yen and everything just . . . fell into place for me.”

“Like Fate,” Nenneke murmured, “So you have no memory at all of who you were or where you were from? What about parents and family?”

“No idea for any of that.” Ciri shook her head, “I have parents and a family now so what’s the rest matter? And why does where I came from matter either? I came from a forest, maybe I sprouted out of the ground like they say gnomes do, maybe i had wings and they fell off so I plunged to the forest, or maybe I’m not even a real person but some illusion or dream.” Ciri frowned, her face becoming deeply serious, “It does not matter. I’m here now, I’m with them now, and I love them now.”

The priestess nodded slowly, taking in the girl’s words and mulling them about, “I only ask to wonder if anyone _else_ might have been looking for you.”

Ciri snorted, “Well, they didn’t find me in time if they were. Geralt, Jaskier, and Yennefer found me. Besides, they weren't looking very hard, were they? I was in the middle of an open wood, not a dense bog or something. No, whoever lost me either didn't mean to find me again.”

“Inde-” 

The door burst open and a blur of movement made both of the room’s occupants yelp in equal parts fear and surprise. Ciri was caught up in a flurry of limbs as three people embraced her from all sides and at first she struggled but then she stilled when her large blue eyes met yellow, violet, then blue. Ciri relaxed and hung in the air as her guardians held her tightly, embracing her on all sides in a near-crushing hug. Her eyes fell once more on the Witcher’s and she saw pain there, deep, wrenching pain, “ . . . hello.”

Geralt put his head on her shoulder and breathed in her scent, wildflowers and spring water, it cleared his head of the oily smoke from the hovel and he breathed in deeper, “ . . . Ciri.”

Ciri hugged him tightly, “Yes, Pa- Ger-”

“No,” Geralt lifted his head, looking at her seriously, the corners of his eyes and mouth taunt, “Call me it, please.”

“ . . . yes, Papa?” Ciri whispered.

Geralt took a slow breath, “You know I love you, that I would do anything I could to keep you safe?”

“Yes, Papa.” Ciri nodded, her hands shaking slightly as she was being put down, she looked at Yennefer and Jaskier but both of them looked away, “What’s going o-”

“You know,” Geralt knelt, holding her thin shoulders in his hands, “That I would do _anything_ for you, that I would fight to the death and then die if it would keep you safe, don’t you?”

Ciri’s lip quivered and she swallowed, “Yes, Papa . . . “

Geralt nodded and stood, he looked at Nenneke, “I need you to do something for me.”

* * *

Ciri had screamed and now Geralt spurred Roach ever faster North, the sound still rung in his ears, the shattering glass, the cracking stones . . . the look on her face. 

_“I need you to take her and hide her from me.” Geralt had said, looking at the priestess then Jaskier and Yennefer, Jaskier was sobbing into Yennefer’s shoulder and the Sorceress was looking at him with such hatred that it stopped his heart._

_“What?” Ciri’s eyes were wide, she looked about in confusion._

_“Why-”_

_Nenneke started to stand but Geralt held up a hand, he had to do this quickly or he would break and that could not happen, “Please!” He said desperately, “Please! Just do as I request and don’t ask questions! We don’t have time!”_

_“What’s happening?” Ciri demanded, looking around the room._

_“Geralt!” Nenneke started again, “What did Ingris say?”_

_Geralt hesitated then looked at Ciri and each of the other’s in turn, his hands were shaking, his jaw muscles twitched and his eyes ached, “ . . . That I fail.”_

He’d backed out of the room as Jaskier got hold of Ciri, holding the struggling girl as she started to work out what he was going to do, _he was going to run_. Yennefer and Nenneke tried to speak, Jaskier cried and then Ciri screamed.

The sound was inhuman, it was other-worldly, the room shivered and shuddered and the air seemed to bend to her will around them. Glass shattered, stones cracked and hearts broke. Geralt made it to the stables before the clenching in his stomach finally demanded attention and he vomited, glaring at some stablehand that made an off-hand joke about proper times of the day to drink.

He spurred Roach on faster, trying to escape the inevitable. He spurred Roach toward home, he’d probably never make it before the pass to Kaer Morhen filled with snow but he was a Witcher, he could find his way around it, better yet if he were to get lost and freeze to death on the mountains so he’d never have to see the look on her face as he fled.

“ _Tell me, Master Witcher, why do you weep?_ ”


End file.
